Meg's Angel
by phantomphan1992
Summary: So just how well does Meg know Erik? What kind of past do they have? Basically about Meg's nonromantic relationship with Erik as well as her relationship with her mother. Part musical verse, part book verse. NO 2004 ALW MOVIE!
1. The Beginning

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera.

Summary: So just how well _does_ Meg know Erik? What kind of past do they have? Meg's POV. Non-romantic E/M pairing. Will also explore the kind of relationship Meg and her mother _really_ have… Part musical-verse, part book-verse.

Bon appetite!

Chapter One:

Some know him as the Phantom of the Opera. Some know him as the Opera Ghost. I know him as Erik, the only father figure I've ever known, my provider, my friend.

♥♥♥

Perhaps I should start from the very beginning. Maman and I had just moved into the newly built Opera House; she was to be the usher of Box 5. Already there were rumors of a ghost, a young man that had been killed by a falling plank during the building of the grand theatre and haunted the place of his untimely death. Within the first month, there had already been several sightings. A shadow passing, a tall man dressed in evening clothes who disappeared as suddenly as he appeared. I was eight, and, even with my overactive imagination, I was very skeptical. Why would a worker have been in eveningwear while working on the construction of the building (I assumed ghosts wore what they wore when they died as they haunted)? And why would he insist that Box 5, my mother's box, belonged to him? There were no records of anyone being killed on the job. No, it had to be something else, and I made it my goal to find out what.

Maman and I had been living here for about six months before the "ghost" made himself known to her. I had been having trouble sleeping, and, as most eight-year-olds would, I sought the comfort of my mother. I knocked softly on the giant door, and, hearing a soft mumble from my mother, cracked it open.

I was shocked, to say the least, to find Maman kneeling on the floor, looking skyward.

"You _will _cooperate, or you'll find yourself, and your daughter, without a home," a male's voice boomed. What was a man doing talking to Maman like that? And where was he? I couldn't see anyone.

"How could this possibly benefit me?" Maman asked.

The man paused before answering. "I'll allow you to continue to live under _my _roof. You will be permitted to continue to usher _my _box. And your daughter," I saw Maman raise her head at this (I must admit, I was also interested; what _about_ myself?), "I've noticed her among the others. She has talent, and with my help, she could become a prima ballerina." (I have to be truthful, I was not the greatest. Granted, I was good, but nothing special)

"Monsieur, with all due respect, I see no reason to trust you…"

"You have no reason to trust me; I'll be quite honest with you, I've committed many crimes, most greater than you could imagine, but would I tell you this if I was planning to harm you?"

"I suppose not," Maman replied.

"I will depend on you to mediate between those incompetent fools with the impudenence to call themselves managers and myself. I believe one good scare should do the trick…"

I didn't hear anything after that. I was running back to my dormitory, blinded with fear. Why would he choose Maman?

I failed to see him until I bumped into him. I gave a muffled cry of fear. Standing before me was none other than the Phantom of the Opera. He was, as the stories told, wearing eveningwear with a long black cape and a hat. His most surprising feature was his face, or rather, the white leather mask covering the entire top half of his face.

I was further shocked when he spoke to me in a gentle voice, "Hello, Marguerite."

How did he know my name? Then I remembered: he's the Phantom of the Opera. He knew everything in relation to the Opera House.

I attempted to respond, but the terror left me speechless.

"Don't be frightened," his voice had a strangely musical quality that instantly put me at ease.

"Now," he began, "would you be obliging enough to tell me what you are doing wandering the halls at such a late hour?"

"I- was going to my mother's suite, because I was having trouble sleeping."

"Well, we simply _cannot _have our future prima ballerina collapsing from exhaustion during rehearsals, can we?"

I shook my head, and he began steering me toward my dormitory. I found myself in my bed, with the covers tucked underneath my chin, wondering how this was supposed to put me to sleep when a voice filled my head. It's wonderful, soothing tone rang sweetly in my ears, and I fell into a deep sleep.

♥♥♥

As the Phantom's name grew, the number of available seats seemed to decrease. Everyone, it seemed, was hoping for a glimpse of this "Opera Ghost." Erik seized this opportunity to perfect every aspect of the Opera House from the musicians to the performers down to the stable hands. Any person that dared to cause trouble was removed. This only led to him becoming more renowned.

In response to his growing fame, Erik began demanding a salary of 20,000 francs a month. Maman was to deliver it to Box 5 and place it in the Phantom's chair. She never saw him, but whenever she looked back at the chair, the envelope had vanished. She was also to deliver any notes left in his chair to the managers, Debienne and Poligny. In return for her services, he paid her in addition to the salary he demanded the managers pay her. He would also leave her little gifts- flowers, candies, coins- and a note of thanks scrawled in red ink.

I found myself confiding in Erik with increasing frequency and was surprised when he began sharing his dark secrets with me, never sparing me the gruesome details. I was frightened, but Erik was my best friend, and that would not change because of his past.

One tale I found particularly disturbing was of his time spent as an exhibit in a traveling fair. For years, he traveled across the continent with a band of gypsies, and spectators would pay to catch a glimpse of his malformed face. Javert, the man in charge of Erik's exhibit, was a repulsive man, and I saw a glint of hatred in his yellow eyes as he described with elaborate detail the man he most despised.

Erik had a talent for storytelling. He would captivate his audience from the first word and carry them on an emotional whirlwind until he released them with the final sentence. He was a brilliant man whose talents ranged from architecture to music to mathematics to language. His voice, when he sang, was perfection. One would have to hear it to truly understand.

The world, I came to realize, had shunned possibly the greatest man to ever live simply because of his face. His face was a sore point for him. The one time I requested to see what was beneath the mask, he began to shout at me. When he finally calmed down, he stormed away, and though I begged, he refused to speak to me for a week. Erik, as I would soon discover, had an uncontrollable, violent temper that would be ignited by seemingly unimportant things.

For the most part, however, Erik and I got along well, so you can imagine my hurt when his attentions were shifted entirely to Christine Daaé.

♥♥♥

A/N: Not a bad first chapter, huh? Reviews will be much appreciated. Oh, and if you have any better ideas for the title, feel free to share.


	2. Christine

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera.

Chapter Two:

When Christine first arrived at the Opera Populaire, I assumed she would be joining the chorus or ballet corps. I was twelve, and she was ten. In her first month there, she hardly uttered a full sentence. Mama asked me to take her under my wing, and I obliged. The poor girl had just lost her father, and I told myself that I would have her gossiping with the other young girls in no time. It was only later that I would discover that she was quiet by nature.

The first time she sang was both wonderful and dreadful. Her normally soft voice seemed to soar into the rafters of the theatre, filled entirely with beauty and sorrow. I must admit, I was tempted to cover my ears, but to do so would shatter what was left of her tattered soul.

Erik must have also heard Christine, for later that night, he spoke of nothing but her and the potential she had. I felt a pang of jealousy. What about _my_ potential? Had he forgotten about me?

I merely nodded. Erik, I knew, wouldn't have heard if I had given him a response.

"I think I'm going to train her myself," his statement caught me off guard. I nearly choked on the sip of tea I'd just taken, but Erik took no notice.

I sighed and placed my cup back on the saucer with a tiny clink. I then pushed it aside, for I had lost my appetite.

"I'm feeling a bit tired. Perhaps I shall retire early," I said, my voice barely audible.

"Oh, yes," Erik replied, snapping his attention back, "Are you going to need me to sing to you again?"

I thought about it. I _could _retain him here longer, but I knew he wanted to approach Mama as soon as possible about tutoring Christine. "No," I answered, shaking my black curls.

"_Bonne nuit_. Good night." he said, pressing his lips to my head before disappearing through a hidden doorway that no doubt entered into his secret passageways.

"_Bonne nuit_," I responded faintly, but he was already gone.

♥♥♥

Christine came into rehearsals the next day smiling.

"The Angel of Music came to me last night," she told me quietly when I pulled her to the side to question her. "I was beginning to think Father was making him up, but he's real!"

_Erik! _

I nodded. I had never seen Christine smile, and I knew if I told her the secret of her "Angel," it would only serve to break her already shattered heart.

I smiled and opened my mouth to speak when I overheard Jammes say, "The Opera Ghost has made La Carlotta the new Prima Donna."

I heard a few other girls mutter comments in response, but I purposefully pretended not to hear. I wanted to hear what happened from Erik, not from a ballet rat. After rehearsals, I rushed to the dormitories, only to find them overrun with young girls awaiting supper. I decided to go to Maman's suite, but along the way, I heard Christine in the Prima Donna's dressing room. Peering into the room, I found Christine on her knees in front of the mirror. If she were to be caught, she would find herself in trouble. I was about to enter to get her out when I heard Erik's voice. All of the hopes I had held that he wasn't the "Angel" were instantly shot down.

_Erik, _I though, _how could you?_ I was suddenly angry with him. I remained standing there until he left, when I followed him. I knew he was going to Maman's suite, and I was determined to beat him there. I took off down the hall running and arrived not a moment too soon, for when I was comfortably seated in my chair, Erik arrived, slipping through the secret doorway and into the parlor.

"Hello, Meg," he greeted cheerfully.

"Erik, are you Christine's "Angel of Music"?"

He nodded, and I continued. "How could you do this? You are taking advantage of her naïveté!"

"What do you know? You are only a child!" he retorted.

I stifled a cry. Erik had always treated me as his equal, but now that Christine was part of his life, I suddenly became a thirteen year-old in his eyes.

Wounded, I stood and turned to leave. Erik attempted to apologize, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

I wandered down the hall toward my dormitory stiffly, and only allowed myself to cry when I was safely strewn across my bed.

"Meg," Jammes stood over me, rubbing my back to comfort me, "It's suppertime."

"I'm not hungry," I managed to reply through my sobs.

Eventually I was left alone, and I continued weep until I had fallen asleep.

♥♥♥

Jammes woke me when she returned from supper. "I know we aren't permitted to have food in here," she said, "but I didn't want you to go hungry." And with that, she produced a slice of bread. "I hid it in the pockets of my skirt," she explained.

Jammes rarely disobeyed rules, and I felt a pang of guilt. I numbly took the bread from her and bit into it. This seemed to satisfy Jammes, for her face instantly relaxed. After a few more minutes, she stood and excused herself. I nodded and continued to nibble on the doughy bread.

After I choked down the last swallow, I stood up, brushed the crumbs off my skirts, and shuffled sleepily to Maman's suite. I knocked, and she answered the door.

"Marguerite, what are you doing wandering the halls at this hour?"

"I-I needed to… I couldn't fall asleep."

"Let me make you some hot tea," Maman replied. I wandered in and sat in my usual chair.

"Maman," I said after a few moments, "do you know that Erik is Christine's "Angel"?"

She paused for a moment, and then gave a small nod.

"And you made no attempt to stop him?" I asked, my voice rising a bit in proportion to my growing anger.

"Marguerite, dear, there is very little one can do to stop a determined Phantom," she replied.

"He yelled at me, Maman," I suddenly found myself telling her, "He never shouts at me, but he did today." A tear slid unchecked down my pale cheek.

Maman tensed visibly, and I wiped a tear away, quickly adding, "I'm sure I provoked him, though."

She came over and sat down next to me. I climbed in her lap as I did when I was five and let her comfort me while I, for the second time that evening, sobbed myself to sleep.

♥♥♥

A/N: I'm still accepting suggestions for a new title. Think about the shameless promotion…


End file.
